


For Queen and Country

by bicycles



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Pre-Slash, a little bit silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 22:26:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bicycles/pseuds/bicycles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Lehnsherr and Mr. Xavier are teachers at Pawnee Senior High School. Everyone knows they don't like each other, but it's really just a cover-up for their secret romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Queen and Country

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely based on [this](http://synekdokee.tumblr.com/post/63475490994/icedjellytea-deanfrost-at-my-school-theres) and not nearly as good as [this](http://ikeracity.tumblr.com/post/63500062512/based-on-this-post-posted-in-the-tag-for-syn). You should read the other one. Also, references to random places in Parks & Recreation.

Having taught biology at Pawnee Senior High School for the past ten years, Charles Xavier had a routine. Every morning he took his bicycle the seven or so blocks to school, balancing an extremely hot mug of coffee, a slightly faded leather satchel, and a staggering stack of books. He parked his bicycle just outside the front office, waving cheerily to the secretaries (and dropping a few flirtatious comments on his way past), and walked the fifty or so steps to his classroom.

His was the first classroom on the first floor. It was situated just before the student lockers, and had the best access to sunlight out of all the science rooms. It also had the best lab equipment. Xavier had invested in all of it, using his family's fortune to fund it, and correspondence courses in biology for any of the students who showed the slightest interest (Pawnee students were poorer than Eagleton students, but they still deserved to have a chance, Charles always said at faculty meetings). 

Erik knew all of this. This was only his second year at Pawnee Senior High School, a step down from his civilian post in the Department of the Navy (top secret), but he seemed to know everything about Mr. Xavier (as the students called him). 

He knew, for example, that Mr. Xavier had studied at Oxford. He had a PhD in genetics, and another one in molecular biology. He had a sister with a fancy car, that dropped him off in the winter, snow stuck in his slightly curly hair. And worst of all, Mr. Xavier had a horrible English accent that Erik couldn't stand. 

Everything came down to the accent. Everyone knew that Mr. Xavier and Mr. Lehnsherr (Erik) didn't like each other. They knew that Erik had started the war. Over an accent. Over the Articles of the Confederation. Over whatever the fuck Erik had decided to call Mr. Xavier out on this week. The trouble was, as he dug his heels deep into the trenches and fought over a national heritage that he neither shared nor believed in, Erik had come to like Mr. Xavier.

Not in that way that other people liked their colleagues. Not in the way that people liked people who shared lab equipment (and in reality, they didn't share much of anything aside from books, as Erik taught maths, and Charles biology). What Erik felt whenever he saw Charles' eyes narrow in suspicion, and give him that look, the teacher look, the one that made the students shut up and sit down, Erik knew that what he felt then wasn't remotely collegial, or platonic. 

Today was the thirty-first day of the school year, and the war showed no sign of abatement. 

"Fancy a cup of tea governor?" Erik called, as he passed the first floor biology room. Inside, he saw Charles, beautiful Charles (and yeah Erik was fucked), digging through his faded leather satchel, extremely hot cup of coffee almost on the edge of the desk, and students all over the place. Erik smirked as he continued down the hall, derisive hoots and howls following him. Charles' first period class was the rowdiest bunch of ninth graders yet, and Erik knew it. 

The ninth graders continued to jeer until he heard Charles, in his soft English accent, calling them to order, reminding them that they had an exam. Erik kept walking. He was humming one of his forgotten German lullabies, the ones that his mother used to sing to him long ago, and thinking about his second period, which was just as bad as Charles' first. 

The state curriculum had decided that instead of the usual Algebra, Geometry, and Calculus, they'd offer a mixture of subjects and call it Math, Honors Math, and Super Hard College Math. The latter was what Erik's students called his AP courses, never to his face, but Erik knew. And he knew that he was kind of a hard ass about getting things right. If Charles was a good teacher because of his silly cardigans and caring, Erik was a good teacher because he was tough, and uncompromising. 

In truth, they were two of the best teachers in the school, way overqualified to teach high school, and that's partially why Principal Frost had allowed their feud. 

But he knew, too, that it was getting a little out of hand.

Only last week he had spent his first period making crumpets in one of the home ec rooms, and when Mr. Xavier (Charles) had stormed into his classroom, flushed and frustrated that Erik had interrupted his class yet again, Erik had offered him more tea. 

The entire situation had been, and Erik could still remember Mr. Xavier's words _exactly_ , humiliating, and awfully stereotypical, and God, Erik you're worse than the students. 

This had been exactly five school days ago. The feud had escalated since, most recently leaving Erik covered in apple pie and beer. He smirked, circling in red one of his student's wrong answers. He scratched a few notes about _showing_ your work and continued grading papers. 

He wasn't about to take that lying down.

He had a plan.

He looked up at the clock. 

The bell would ring in exactly five minutes, leaving him about six more minutes of peace. Seven, if he were being generous.

"Erik." 

The door of his office opened, and there was Mr. Xavier (Charles) standing, covered in an odd mixture of goo and sheep guts. 

"How many times have I told you that I'm not fucking Scottish? I don't -" Charles picked an obvious piece of sheeps guts off his clothes. "I don't do haggis." 

"Good morning governor, I don't believe we've had the privilege..." 

"Erik..." Charles was walking across the room, and he had his hands planted firmly on Erik's desk, blocking Erik's view of anything except a messily unbuttoned cardigan, blue eyes and red lips (and okay, he had no idea why that thought had just come to him, what the hell). "This has got to stop. For the sake of the students..." 

"...of deigning your visit this evening."

"For the sake of freedom, and all things sacred!" 

"Really, I haven't had time to put the kettle on to boil." 

He saw Charles' lips quirk, ever so slightly, towards a smile. 

"And my God, the scones are stale." 

Erik moved to reach for his desk keys, but Charles' hand stopped him.

"I don't believe that's in the Constitution, sir," he said, in the worst imaginable American accent ever. Erik knew he must be making a face because Charles stopped. "You know," he said, not letting go of Erik's hand, which left Erik feeling rather helpless, as far as things were concerned, "it's offensive you think we're all tea-obsessed madmen fawning over the Queen...I don't even like scones."

Erik had played out this moment a hundred times in his head. He had watched as Charles stormed into his moderately decorated classroom, demanding an explanation. Or, enacting revenge. Or, demanding an explanation and enacting secret revenge. He had not anticipated that he might be reduced to handholding goo as Mr. Xavier yet again lectured him on Political Correctness, which in Erik's opinion was really an American monopoly. The English swore too fucking much to be PC (Erik's opinion, again). 

But somehow, here they were, and any moment students would be here, and see that their blood feud had actually been... Erik pulled his hand away as a shy girl with red hair walked into the classroom. 

"For Queen and country," he said, putting on his best (worst) English accent.

He watched as Charles turned to see the girl, sitting in the front row of the class, and then watched as Charles' attention turned back to him. He smiled, an annoyingly knowing smile that Erik seemed to know all too well (like most things about Charles, he just happened to know this information, and he didn't know why). 

"Lunch?" 

"I shall inquire with the Duchess." 

There was a moment in which Erik didn't know if Charles was going to hit him, or kiss him (both of which Erik would have accepted), but it passed, and Charles was gone, and Erik had a damn complicated class to teach (fuck the State curriculum).


End file.
